sometimes i think.
we're worlds apart.
and other times i think.
its an escape through alienation.


i'm sorry i know no such people.
or rather, too little of such people.
or maybe, too many who hide it well.
one close encounter.
ultimately like sand in hand.
let slip and lost touch.


and i promise.
we'll visit the wynn.
two weeks or more.
a glossed white grand piano.
and vocals to Journey.


well americans.
what, nothin' better to do.
why dont you kick yourself out.
you're an immigrant too.


freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose.


woah, we're halfway there
woah, livin' on a prayer
take my hand and we'll make it, i swear
woah, livin' on a prayer.

perfection at 5:03 PM